


A Day in the Life

by anditwasstinky (thewicked)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slice of Life, bottom!Victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9246980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewicked/pseuds/anditwasstinky
Summary: In which Victor and Yuuri celebrate domestic bliss.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few ~technical details~: This is set between the end of the World Championships in the spring and the Grand Prix Series in the fall, where's there seems to be a few weeks of downtime. I delayed Victor's competitive comeback until the upcoming Grand Prix Series, so Yuuri and Yuri competed in the World Championships without him; I just thought it might make sense for him to spend a season training to get back into shape, since he hasn't participated competitively in quite a while.
> 
> But!! That's it!! I hope you like it!!

Victor wakes up first, with a noseful of Yuuri’s warm scent. They’re spooning; Yuuri’s back is flush against Victor’s front, and Victor’s arm is serving as a pillow for Yuuri’s head. Over the curve of Yuuri’s shoulder, Victor can hear Makkachin snoring on his other side. A small stab of envy pricks him, though it isn’t enough to stop the way his heart thuds with affection when Yuuri shifts closer, a sleep-deep sigh pushing him further into Victor’s chest.

He cranes his neck over his shoulder to check the time – 6:45. They aren’t supposed to get up for another 45 minutes, so he settles back down, pulling Yuuri’s soft body towards him. It’s the end of their short period of rest between skating seasons, and Yuuri’s – unfortunately – been working hard to lose the extra weight he’s gained since the World Championships. Victor closes his eyes, catches a bit of Makkachin’s ear with his fingers, and settles his hand on top of Yuuri’s, where he can feel the cool ridge of the ring adorning his fourth finger. A smile ghosts over his lips as he burrows into the space between his pillow and Yuuri’s neck, his own ring a comfortable presence as it rests next to Yuuri’s.

**

Victor wakes up again half an hour later as Yuuri – fully awake this time – does his best to turn himself over between Victor’s arm and Makkachin’s furry body. Victor can feel a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as the fuzz of sleep slowly falls away.

Yuuri’s eyes are wide, and soft, and, really, such a beautiful shade of brown. One of his cheeks is pink from being pressed into his pillow, and Victor reaches up to cover it with his hand.

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

“Good morning.” Yuuri reaches for a kiss – more of a peck, really, but Victor can’t complain when he’s been able to wake up next to Yuuri in his own bed, in his own city for the last four and a half months since they made the decision to skate together after the Final. Victor returns the favor, pressing closer, his lips a little more insistent as he catches Yuuri’s wrist in his hand, brings it up to his mouth, and presses a rather chaste kiss to the ring on his finger. Even though it’s been a while now since Yuuri agreed to move in with him, he still hasn’t quite been able to believe his own luck. It was one thing to be accepted and taken in when he showed up in Hasetsu unannounced, but to invite Yuuri to move away from home, and for Yuuri to say yes, to know that Yuuri genuinely wants to be _with_ him – it’s more than Victor can handle, sometimes.

“Sleep well?” Yuuri asks. He threads his fingers through Victor’s, his thumb rubbing thoughtlessly over the side of his palm.

Victor shifts, moves his arm out from underneath Yuuri’s head to pillow his own. “I always sleep well when I have you with me.”

Yuuri smiles, and something dark flashes in his eye, reminding Victor of his Eros routine. “Yeah?” He takes charge of their clasped hands, rolling Victor onto his back and crawling on top. His other hand seeks out Victor’s, and Victor can’t help but smile as he finds himself pinned down. “Because you get so much sleep when we share a bed.”

Makkachin, sensing that he’s clearly no longer necessary, jumps off of the bed and goes elsewhere in the flat, probably to see if his food dish has magically replenished itself sometime in the night.

Victor laughs. “Yuuri, please. You’re embarrassing the dog.”

Yuuri presses closer, leaning in to claim a kiss. “Makkachin’s used to this.”

Victor kisses back, spreading his hands apart to bring Yuuri closer. Their chests touch, and Victor rolls his hips up, his lips curving as a surprised gasp gets torn out of Yuuri’s throat.

“Not fair,” he breathes, and he copies the movement, eliciting a groan from Victor.

There’s something about early morning makeouts that makes Victor feel more alive than ever – it’s like carving out a moment in time and space where he can just _feel_ – where it’s just the two of them, the warm press of lips, the soft slide of tongue, the jolts of pleasure where their bodies come into contact. The push and pull of it all, the moment where the haze of sleep finally and completely falls away, and everything suddenly becomes so clear, so _present_ – it makes Victor wish he could press pause on the rest of the world and remain here, in bed, with Yuuri’s warm body covering his own.

They’re interrupted by Makkachin, who’s come back to notify them of the status of his food dish. He barks, front two paws propping him up on the bed, watching Victor and Yuuri disentangle themselves, completely unaware of the erections they’re both sporting.

Even as Victor leaves Yuuri in bed to follow Makkachin into the kitchen, his body tense with aborted anticipation, he knows that it’s already a wonderful day. He just feels it.

**

“Have you seen Yurio’s Instagram?”

Yuuri doesn’t turn around from his spot at the counter, where he’s pouring water out of the kettle into two mugs. Victor doesn’t mind; Yuuri’s shirt has, in the process of walking around, ridden up the small of his back, leaving his sweatpant-clad backside open for Victor’s enjoyment. “What is it?”

Victor tears his eyes away from the precious view to pull up the post on his phone. He smiles when it comes up. “It’s cute.”

Yuuri comes over, mugs of brewing tea in hand. Together, they look at a picture of Yurio’s computer screen, which features a Skype call with Otabek. They can see Yurio taking the picture in the corner, and the tail of his cat pokes out from behind the laptop. The caption is some vague, teenager-y thing about long-distance friendships.

“It's really nice that he and Otabek have become so close,” Yuuri says. He sits down and slides Victor’s tea over to him before taking a sip of his own. “It’s sweet.”

“I’ve never seen him so excited to know someone,” Victor says. “‘He’s always been friends with Mila, but he’d never admit it.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows furrow together, and his mouth quirks to the side a little as he considers the picture, thinking. “Maybe he’s got a thing for him.”

Victor snorts. “You think Yurio is like us?”

Yuuri gives half of a shrug. “I don’t know. He could be.”

Breakfast is normally a fairly quiet affair, with Victor and Yuuri checking their social media on their phones over their food. It’s almost the same as it had been in Hasetsu, except quieter, the close, familiar sounds of the surrounding onsen exchanged for the distant sound of the street outside. The one thing that really remained the same are the noises made by Makkachin, who’s jealously eyeing Yuuri's rice and eggs. It had been tricky finding many Japanese ingredients in St. Petersburg, but Yuuri’s been able to make do, and he’s even developed a taste for Russian food thanks to Yurio’s grandfather's katsudon pirozhki. Victor, on the other hand, never learned how to cook anything well enough to really do much to educate Yuuri about his native cuisine.

“Are you training today?” Victor asks.

Yuuri blinks as he looks up from his phone, his eyes wide behind his glasses. His hair is still long and overgrown, and Victor almost wishes he wouldn’t cut it when the competitive season starts back up in a few short weeks. “I think so. I need to.” He self-consciously places a hand on his soft stomach.

Victor gently grabs his side, which gives under his hand in the nicest way. “Just know,” he says, “that I like this version of Yuuri just as much as I like the other version.”

Yuuri stands up, then, to take his bowl to the sink. He takes Victor's plate, too, and his hands are too full yet again to pull his shirt down to cover the shape of his ass.

“I can feel your eyes on me, you know,” Yuuri says. The tips of his ears have gone pink, and Victor gets up to get behind him, his hands on his hips, one of them straying dangerously close to the curve of his backside.

“I just like looking at you,” he murmurs into his ear. “And I know you’re proud of it.”

He can almost feel Yuuri's eye roll. “Cheesy things like that stopped working a while ago, Victor.”

“Mm-hm.” Victor lets his hand stray where it wants to go. Yuuri yelps.

“Victor!”

He walks away, though it’s more like a smug saunter. “See? I can still find ways to surprise people.”

**

As Yuuri prepares to leave to run before spending the afternoon at the ice rink, Victor gets ready to take Makkachin for his walk. Thankfully, it’s the end of spring, so they don’t need to bundle up quite as much – a single jacket will do. They leave together, Makkachin dancing in anticipation for the park as Yuuri locks the door behind them. The dog all but drags Victor down the hall to the elevator, and Yuuri almost has to jog to keep up. When they make it to the sidewalk, Victor says, “Text me when you get to the rink, okay? I might join you.”

“You don’t need to start until next week,” Yuuri says. He tests his backpack, making sure it isn’t too heavy to interfere with his run. “I’m the one that gets fat every time I stop skating.”

Makkachin watches impatiently as Victor shrugs a shoulder. “I might just feel like it. We can dust off our moves for _Stay Close to Me_. It's not like anyone else will be there yet.”

Yuuri smiles, then catches himself, and then blushes, as if the memory of their gala exhibition routine had caught him off-guard. Victor finds the whole progression incredibly enchanting.

“We - we could,” Yuuri hedges. “But lately I’ve been seeing more and more people come by. Mila was there yesterday, and on Sunday Georgi showed up. I think he’s finally gotten over his ex-girlfriend.”

Victor ignores the way Makkachin’s begun tugging at his leash. The dog’s gaze is fixated on Victor, as if trying to will him to move. “I don’t mind having an audience,” he says.

Yuuri looks at Makkachin, who’s audience to nearly everything they do in the small flat. “No, you don't.”

Victor laughs. “Just text me when you get there, okay? I'll be seeing Yurio at lunch, too – Do you want me to get you anything?”

“Just a sandwich, I think.” Yuuri shuffles his feet. “Or whatever you think I might like.”

“Another test to see if I can really read your mind?” Victor asks.

Yuuri smiles un-self-consciously now, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. It makes Victor want to kiss him, but he reins himself in. “Of course.”

**

Walking Makkachin has always been one of Victor’s favorite parts of the day. It had been his singular favorite part of the day, once upon a time, before he’d decided to trade in his life for one with Yuuri Katsuki, who hadn’t even remembered asking Victor to act as his coach at that fateful banquet. Still, it’d been the right decision, Victor thinks, and he catches the smile that’s started on his lips when his ring flashes in the late morning sun. Makkachin’s barking at a passing cyclist, but when Victor says his name in the tone that says, “Stop,” he turns to Victor, looking at him with his tongue out, his mouth open in what Victor can only describe as a grin. “I’m excited, too,” he says, thinking of being able to skate with Yuuri later this afternoon. But he knows that isn’t what Makkachin’s wagging his tail for. “Ready for the park?” he asks.

Makkachin barks. He leads Victor down the sidewalk, towards the small park in the middle of their neighborhood. It’s where they always went when Victor lived in St. Petersburg before going to Japan, and Makkachin looks particularly blissful when he spots his favorite tree to sniff.

Victor knows this isn’t anywhere near Yuuri’s running route, but he can’t help himself as he scans the gardens for his familiar shape, the mop of dark hair, the shine of his glasses as Makkachin lifts up one of his legs to pee. This time with Makkachin had once been Victor’s favorite part of his day, but now, living with Yuuri, he always looks forward to the day’s end, when the two of them settle down together, some Russian drama on, a glass of wine in Victor’s hand, his feet in Yuuri’s lap. He looks forward to what might take place afterwards, too – a flash of arousal rushes through him as he thinks about Yuuri’s body on his, skin sliding against his own, the feeling of Yuuri’s hot lips sending a shiver down his spine. Makkachin has a knack for appearing at the oddest moments during this time of the evening, too; they try to keep the bedroom door closed, but when they do, the sound of Makkachin’s paws scraping against the wood is just as disturbing as his face appearing near the edge of the bed.

It’s only been a little over four months since Yuuri came to St. Petersburg; they’ve gone through the World Championships together, with Yuuri landing on the podium along with Yurio as Victor worked to get back into shape for the next season. It’s been a little over a year since Yuuri first stole Victor’s heart at that Grand Prix Final banquet, and a little more than six months since they kissed for the first time, since Yuuri first truly met Victor where he was. It’s all been a blur, and yet Victor remembers every moment as distinctly as if he were reliving them all right here in this park, as Makkachin strains against his leash to chase a squirrel.

Before Yuuri, Makkachin had been the only thing keeping Victor sane. With his family out of the picture for so long, and his celebrity status constantly keeping people an arm’s length away, aside from Yakov, the only other constant in his life had been his dog. He’d never felt the loneliness, though, until after that wild banquet, when Yuuri had refused to take a photo with him. It had all come crashing down, then, an overwhelming wave that made him feel like he was drowning.

It wasn’t long after that happened that he’d considered simply retiring.

Makkachin tries chasing another squirrel, jerking against his leash in a way that has Victor chiding him a little more forcefully than he normally needs to. A week ago, Yuuri would have been walking Makkachin with him. Victor’s looking forward to the next season, to revealing his and Yuuri’s new routines, to finally skating with Yuuri on the same ice, but, as he checks his phone for texts that haven’t arrived yet, he wonders how long he’ll have to wait before daily Makkachin walks together can become something regular, rather than temporary.

A few minutes later, as he’s recovering from having to pick up Makkachin’s poop, he does get a text, but it isn’t from his fiancee. It’s from Yurio, double checking that he’s still good for lunch later.

 _Of course_ , he texts back. He adds a smiley face, so Yurio knows he’s excited.

**

Yuuri isn’t home when Victor returns with Makkachin. He shouldn’t be surprised; Yuuri still has a few pounds to lose before he or Yakov will let him anywhere near an official practice. But Victor still texts him a message of encouragement, equipped with the running man emoji and a few fires, as well as a kissy face, so Yuuri knows what he would do if he were to see him right now.

After supplying Makkachin with a fresh bowl of water, he settles down in the bedroom to listen to the final batch of songs he’s considering for his long and short programs. Halfway through the first song, a dream-like classical piece that’s heavy on cello, his phone vibrates. It’s from Yuuri, and it’s a string of thumbs-up emojis followed by a heart, the face with heart eyes, and the same kissy face Victor had used. Another one pops up: _Sorry_ , followed by a few running emojis, and a badly spelled attempt at _Running my last stretch_.

Victor smiles, his heart thudding with affection as his eyes linger on the heart eyes and kissy face. Another text message appears. This time, it’s a single heart from Yuuri, and Victor wonders just how, exactly, he got to be so lucky.

**

He’s on his computer, browsing through articles talking about his comeback, Yuuri, and their relationship when the man in question returns, his cheeks flushed, his grown-out hair sticking to his forehead, his damp shirt clinging to his chest as he shrugs off his jacket. Victor watches from his spot on the couch as Yuuri turns around to lean against the wall as he toes off his shoes, which, subsequently, causes him to push his backside out a little. Victor gives a short whistle.

Yuuri turns around, a long-suffering look on his face. “Victor, please.”

Victor reaches out to catch his hand in his as he walks past, and he holds onto him, tethering him to the couch. “How was your run?”

“Fine.” Yuuri takes a step closer, playing a little with Victor’s hand. “I made it all the way without stopping this time.”

“A good sign.”

He smiles, rolling his eyes a little. “It’s not my first time getting back into shape.”

Victor pulls him closer, and laughs as Yuuri nearly topples over the back of the couch and onto his lap. “But I’m so proud of you, Yuuri! You always work so hard for me.”

“Victor, please let go!” Yuuri laughs, trying to right himself even as Victor keeps tugging him down. “I promise I’ll come right back. Just let me change out of these clothes, okay?”

Victor pouts, but he lets go. “You better.”

Yuuri scoffs. “Like I wouldn’t.”

He only takes a few minutes, and, Victor has to admit, he smells a lot better with fresh clothes and fresh deodorant.

Without much prompting, Yuuri straddles Victor’s lap on the couch, cradling Victor’s head with his hands as he proceeds to kiss him breathless. Victor groans, pulling Yuuri closer, relishing every press and pull of his lips. Ever since they kissed for the first time in Hasetsu, Victor’s constantly wondered just why, exactly, they aren’t kissing all the time. He feels Yuuri’s fingers messing up the small hairs at the back of his neck, and the sensation sends shivers throughout his body. His pulse picks up, going faster and faster until it’s pounding between his legs. He feels drunk, his head swims with the feeling of Yuuri’s lips, his tongue, the slide of his hand against Victor’s neck, back, waist, hips. Everywhere Yuuri touches goes electric, and Victor’s panting for it, shifting closer, trying to align himself against Yuuri – and gasping with a jolt when their hardening cocks meet.

His head falls back, and Yuuri responds by focusing on his jaw, kissing all the way up to his ear before gently taking his earlobe between his lips.

It makes Victor jerk. “Yuuri, please…”

Yuuri rolls his hips in a maddening way, his breath hot and thick against the delicate skin behind Victor’s ear. “Should we continue what we started this morning?”

Victor swallows – no, _gulps_. He can feel Yuuri hard against himself, and it’s making him antsy, itchy with desire. Victor arches against him, giving himself up to Yuuri’s mouth, the slow, dizzying roll of Yuuri’s hips on his. He’s astoundingly hard, and he wants Yuuri so badly it nearly hurts. “ _Yes_ – ”

Yuuri’s hands are fumbling with the fly of Victor’s trousers, his brow furrowed in the cutest way until, with a relieved sigh, he gets it, and starts to strip them off –

They freeze as a buzzing noise starts up. Their heads swivel towards the coffee table, where Yuuri’s phone is skittering across the tasteful glass top; his mother is calling.

“Crap – ” Yuuri tumbles off of Victor to sit on the edge of the couch. He picks his phone up off of the floor where it’s fallen and shoots Victor an apologetic look. “She called me while I was out running. It’s getting late there, and they’ll be wanting to have dinner soon…”

Victor flops back into the couch, his eyes closed. “Go,” he says, waving his hand in a shooing motion. “Answer it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Yuuri presses a bruising kiss to Victor’s mouth, and he’s off before Victor can reply, his phone at his ear. “ _Moshi moshi_?”

Victor opens his eyes. He stares at the ceiling, and wonders whether or not he should attend to himself before getting up. He hears Yuuri speaking Japanese to his mother in the other room, his voice quiet, soft, and so familiar it makes Victor’s chest ache a little. He catches a few words; Yuuri’s been trying to teach him Japanese since he became his coach, but it’s been a slow process. He hears his name, though, and something that sounds like “happy,” or “good;” he can’t really tell.

With a heavy sigh, he sits up, running a hand through his hair. His erection is still very present, but, with Yuuri’s conversation with his mother in his ear, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to do anything about it without feeling kind of weird.

He sighs again, defeated. He gets up and follows Yuuri into the bedroom, where he finds him sitting on the edge of his bed. It’s a bit comical, Victor thinks, seeing him on the phone with a tent in his pants.

He lies down next to Yuuri, who almost immediately begins combing his fingers through Victor’s hair. Victor closes his eyes, listens to Yuuri speak his native language, and rolls onto his side, burying his face in Yuuri’s thigh. He stays like that for the rest of the conversation, and when Yuuri finishes, he simply lies down, halfway on top of Victor, and they spend the next few moments simply enjoying the other’s presence. A few long, lazy kisses happen, and then Victor shifts closer, murmuring, “Yuuri… I’m still hard.”

Yuuri snorts, the rush of air warm against Victor’s cheek. “Victor, you are – ”

“Insatiable?” Victor grins against Yuuri’s mouth.

“I was going to say tenacious.”

“Either way…” Victor slides a leg between Yuuri’s, pressing himself against Yuuri’s hip. He feels Yuuri shiver from the contact, and, slowly, deliberately, he slides a hand downward. “Can we _please_ do this?”

Yuuri shudders when Victor finally takes him in hand. His grip tightens on Victor’s arm. “ _Yes_ ,” he breathes.

It’s all Victor ever wants to hear.

**

A little bit later, Victor asks, “How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing well.” Victor has an arm around Yuuri, who’s on his stomach and using Victor’s shoulder as a pillow. Victor begins playing with Yuuri’s hair, his fingers brushing over the straggly ends that lie over his ear. Yuuri continues, “She just wanted to say hi before the dinner rush began.” He peeks up at Victor with a small smile. “You know, the onsen has had a lot more business since you were there.”

Victor raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“She said it hasn’t been this busy in years.”

He smiles. “Well, tell her next time that I only accept official thanks in the form of floral arrangements or fruit baskets.”

Yuuri’s smile is indulgent. “I’ll be sure to pass it on.”

Victor’s moved his hand down to rub Yuuri’s back. “Did you tell her hi from me?”

“Of course I did. She loves you.”

Victor’s smile grows. “Seems to be a family trait.”

“Oh, hush,” Yuuri says. He raises his head just slightly to knock it against Victor’s arm.

“Maybe I’ll be able to talk to her soon,” Victor says. “If I can get better at Japanese.”

A short, dry laugh comes out of Yuuri. “You haven’t practiced your Japanese since, like, February!”

“ _No_ ,” Victor says, scandalized. “No, I tried practicing with Minako just last month – ”

“Don’t lie!” Yuuri says, laughing as he props himself up on his elbows to look down at Victor better. “You did _not_ practice with Minako.”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Victor says.

Yuuri flops back down, his eyes closed. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change the fact that we should keep practicing. We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Maybe tonight?” Victor says. He puts on his best seductive face. “You could teach me some dirty words.”

Yuuri’s eyes open to give him a level, deadpan look. “Victor, please.”

Victor groans, and pulls Yuuri closer to him. “ _Please_? As soon as we start training, we won’t be able to do as many things together. And I love you, and I want to have sex with you while I can.”

Yuuri chuckles a little at Victor’s honesty. Then he’s rolling on top of Victor, who watches with bated breath as he gets onto his knees to crouch over him. Victor lays motionless underneath as Yuuri stoops down to nuzzle the juncture of Victor’s neck and shoulder. “We could do it now, if you want,” he murmurs. “Going to the rink was optional, for me.”

Victor’s cock twitches, ready to spring back to life. He’s about to say _Yes, please, take me_ when _his_ phone goes off on the night table, prompting him to moan in agony as Yuuri rolls off of him, laughing.

“Yurio!” Victor curses under his breath as he looks at the missed call notification. A voice mail message pops up a few seconds later, and Yuuri’s appeared at Victor’s shoulder by the time he’s pulling it up.

“Victor!” Yurio’s voice is furious enough that both Victor and Yuuri can hear it. “Where are you! I’ve been waiting outside this stupid cafe for ten minutes, and you’re not here! If you don’t call me back in two minutes, I’m leaving, and you can just hang out with your stupid fiancee!”

There’s an angry _click_ , and then the automated voice begins listing off Victor’s options for saving or deleting the message.

“Looks like you’d better get going,” Yuuri says.

Victor falls back onto the bed, dragging Yuuri with him. “Perhaps I’ll just hang out with my stupid fiancee...”

Yuuri pushes himself away from Victor to sit up. “You have to go. Yurio will be upset if you don’t.”

“But…” Victor tries to pull him back down, but Yuuri stands up, pulling on Victor’s arm to make him get up, too. “Yuuri!”

“Come on.” Yuuri grunts as he drags Victor off of the bed. “You’re going to lunch.”

**

“Where’s Pork Cutlet Bowl?” Yurio’s slouched in his seat, hood drawn over his head as if Victor’s presence right next to him isn’t enough to tip his fans off on his current location. “Too busy trying to get not-fat?”

“He’s gone to skate,” Victor says primly. “And it’s not his fault he gains weight easily.”

“Or that you spoil him,” Yurio says. “You feed him extra food like you’d feed your dog extra scraps from the table. That’s why he got so fat this time around.”

Victor scoffs. “I don’t treat my fiancee like he’s my dog.” They’re in his favorite sandwich shop, waiting for their orders to come out of the kitchen. He plays with the cap of his water bottle, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “But it’s not my fault he’s so cute, either.”

Yurio rolls his eyes, as Victor knew he would.

“You don’t think anything is cute?” he teases, suddenly shifting gears. “Your cat? Some of your fans?” He narrows his eyes playfully. “ _Otabek_?”

Yurio chokes on his soda. His eyes tear up as the carbonation stings his nose and throat, and Victor laughs as he hands him a napkin. “Sorry,” he says. “But really. Say what you will about myself and Yuuri, but you sure don’t have any qualms posting cute things with Otabek on Instagram.”

A final cough, and Yurio chokes out, “I make _one_ friend, and you turn it into a frickin’ crush.”

“I’m not saying it’s a _crush_ ,” Victor says, though he totally is, “but you _do_ like to… you know… show off the fact that the two of you are friends. You’ve never posted pictures with Mila,” he points out. “Or even _me_.”

Another eye roll. “I already have enough people calling you my dad, okay? I’m _not_ stoking that fire.”

Victor chuckles as, finally, their sandwiches appear before him. He takes a moment to order one and some soup for Yuuri for takeaway, and a piece of cake – for himself, he tells Yurio, but they both know that at least half of it will end up setting Yuuri back by a few hours of running.

“Spoiling,” Yurio says. He flashes a shit-eating smile when Victor frowns at him.

“Just wait until you fall in love,” he warns. “It can surprise you.”

Yurio snorts. “No offense, but I don’t think I’ll be as bad as you. Like, ever.”

Victor’s lips curl smugly. “We – and Otabek – will see about that in a few years.” That causes Yurio to choke again, this time on the first bite of his turkey sandwich. “Stop – _implying_ – ”

Victor pushes Yurio’s cup of soup closer to him. “Try that. It might help you clear your throat.”

Yurio simply glares at him over the table, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and Victor can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

**

Finally, he makes it to the rink. He had to stop once more at home to pack a bag with more comfortable clothes to practice in, but he all but runs up to the rink’s doors, the knowledge that Yuuri is inside pulling him inexorably closer.

His heart all but leaps into his throat when he sees Yuuri on the ice, executing a beautiful camel spin before dropping into a sit spin, the empty rink filled with the scrape of his skates. He’s always loved the music of Yuuri’s skating, the way the movements inhabit his body like an inspiration, a breath of spirit that lights up his face and lights something up in Victor, too. Yuuri might tell people that the only reason he became good is because he had more free time to practice than anyone else, but, watching him, Victor sees a love he knows exists in his own skating. He sees a spark, something innate, something that, as Yuuri launches into a quad Salchow – landing perfectly, Victor might add – takes his breath away.

He waits for the right moment to make himself known, when Yuuri’s simply circling the rink, thinking of what he might do next. There’s high color in his cheeks, and the tip of his nose is nearly red. His lips are exceptionally pink, too – they must be getting chapped in the rink’s cooler air.

Yuuri squints at Victor as he approaches, trying to see him properly. Victor raises his hand with the takeaway bag, wiggling it as Yuuri fumbles for his glasses.

“Hey,” he says, smiling a bit breathlessly as he leans against the railing to claim his kiss.

Yuuri pulls away, smiling despite the confusion pulling at his brows. “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.”

Victor chases him with his lips, not finished. His mouth probably still tastes like the salami and crisps he’d had for lunch, though he’d tried to wash it down with a bit of sparkling water, but Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind, his hand appearing at the nape of Victor’s neck to pull him closer, his other hand gripping Victor’s arm as if he were going to fly away, should he let go.

“I got you mushroom soup,” he says between kisses. “And a chicken sandwich.”

Yuuri’s hand moves from Victor’s arm to snake around his waist, forcing Victor to bend over the barrier that separates them a little as he pulls him closer. “No mayonnaise?”

Victor rests his forehead against Yuuri’s, and he briefly wonders how the warm, sweaty smell of him isn’t gross in any way. “You’re not allowed to have that, remember?”

Yuuri sighs. He catches Victor’s lips in a lazy, barely-there kiss. “And to think I grew to like it since I moved here with you.”

“I’m turning you into a good Russian,” Victor laughs.

Yuuri eats on the floor, his legs splayed out on either side, his hard guard-covered skates pointing straight up in the air. Victor sits with him, his back against the rink’s barrier. He considers pulling out the cake, but he doesn’t want to provide Yuuri with more distraction than his own presence already brings. He also thinks it might make a nice surprise, once they get home.

“How was Yurio?” Yuuri asks over his soup.

“Grumpy,” Victor says. “But ready to get started working on next season, I think. He seemed a bit bored.”

“Understandable.”

“He got flustered when I brought up his picture with Otabek, too,” Victor adds, and Yuuri laughs. “You might’ve been right about him.”

Yuuri snorts. “Please don’t jump to any conclusions based on a throwaway comment from me.”

“I’m just saying,” Victor laughs. “He was blushing, and he looked like you always did when I first showed up in Hasetsu.”

“You mean when you wouldn’t stop coming onto me?” Yuuri asks, his smile playful.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t remember the Grand Prix Final banquet!” Yuuri lets out a rueful laugh as Victor swats at his arm. “If you had, you would’ve made my job so much easier!”

Yuuri hoots. “Your _job_?”

“You know what I mean!”

Yuuri’s smile has shifted, no longer flirtatious; rather, he looks like he’s enjoying Victor’s discomfort immensely. “Your _job_ was to seduce me? After I forgot that _I’d_ seduced you? Is _that_ why you left your career to coach me?”

His smile falters after that. His eyes become clouded with something Victor’s seen many times before, though mostly within the context of a skating competition rather than the safe space of an empty practice rink.

“Hey.” Victor stretches his leg out to knock his foot against Yuuri’s. “I didn’t leave my career.”

Yuuri looks down, chewing his lip, his soup and sandwich forgotten on the floor in front of him. Victor nudges his foot again. “How many times do I have to tell you that I was perfectly happy as your coach? There wasn’t anything left for me to do competitively.” There _hadn’t_ been anything left for him to do – he’d won five consecutive gold medals, the world was at his fingertips, and he had become a living legend, but anything he chose to do next wouldn’t have truly surprised anyone. No matter the theme, or the music, or the program itself, he would have simply been Victor Nikiforov, world champion skater, living legend, and extremely eligible bachelor. He had begun to lose his sense of direction, his sense of _purpose_ – until he bumped into a wasted Yuuri at that banquet.

“I wasn’t inspired,” he says, holding Yuuri’s eyes with his own. He itches to take Yuuri’s hand in his, to stroke his fingers, soothe his nerves, but he holds back; he knows better now, than to do the first thing that pops into his mind. “I wasn’t inspired, and I wasn’t going to be, unless I did what felt right, and work with you.” His eyes prickle a little with a suggestion of tears, but he does his best to keep them at bay. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he starts crying, and if that makes Yuuri start crying, and they both end up huddled together on the rink floor. So, he grabs Yuuri’s hand, and he holds on tight. “I’m really, _really_ glad that I did, too. If I hadn’t gone to Japan to coach you, I probably would have just retired.”

“But you’re going back to skating now,” Yuuri says. His eyebrows are tightly wound, lips tense with concern. “And I know this is all the media have talked about, but… Do you _really_ think you’ll be able to coach and skate at the same time? I know you want to continue as my coach, but… you also love skating. I don’t want to hold you back.”

Victor huffs, though he keeps it playful. “Don’t start underestimating me _now_ , Yuuri.”

“But everyone says – ”

“It doesn’t matter what everyone says,” Victor snaps. He cringes when Yuuri flinches just slightly, but he closes his eyes for a few seconds to gather himself. “I can be your coach _and_ skate at the same time. I don’t think it’ll cause that much conflict.” He opens his eyes. “Yuuri, I _want_ to be your coach. I’ve wanted to be your coach this whole time.”

Yuuri nods. He’s biting his lip, as if he’s trying not to cry, too. “Okay, Victor.”

Victor squeezes his hand for one, two, three seconds before letting go. “I want to skate on the same ice as you, too.” He smiles. “It’s my dream, you know.”

His heart lurches when a hesitant, watery smile breaks out on Yuuri’s face. “Your dream, huh?”

Victor pushes Yuuri’s still-wrapped sandwich towards him. “Of course. You’re my idol, don’t you know that? I’ve got posters of you plastered all over my walls at home.”

Yuuri takes his sandwich with a snicker. “Liar. I’ve seen your walls.”

It takes all of Victor’s self-control to refrain from launching himself at Yuuri and covering him with reassuring kisses. So, instead, he gives him a wink and a delectable smile. “Of course you have. You see them every night.”

That pulls a genuine laugh out of Yuuri, and Victor feels positively radiant as Yuuri takes a bite of his food, his eyes glowing behind his glasses.

“How’d I do with your lunch?” he asks, knocking his foot against Yuuri’s once again. “Did I read your mind?”

Yuuri gives a one-shouldered shrug as he chews. “It’s good,” he says through a mouthful.

Victor scoffs. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

Yuuri swallows through a laugh. “You have to trust me.”

“You’re not just sparing my feelings?”

“I didn’t get engaged to you just to spare your feelings,” Yuuri says, and Victor laughs.

“No,” he says, eyeing the ring on his finger. “No, you didn’t.”

**

Victor had missed the ice more than he realized while he had been coaching, and as he orbits Yuuri during their warm-up runthrough of their paired routine, his heart feels like it’s flying inside of him. It’s different from all the times last year when he’d helped Yuuri figure out how to land tricky jumps, or when he’d helped work out kinks in the choreography, or when he’d simply circled the ice while Yuuri took a break, stealing a moment for himself to simply feel the ice beneath his blades. Now, as he lifts Yuuri up into a spin, as Yuuri’s hand trails down Victor’s face in a soft caress, his cheeks pink with exertion, his eyes full of love that makes Victor’s heart feel like it’s burning – he’s excited. He’s found that feeling that had been missing, and he’s ready to show the world just how much he’s changed since his last competition. He’ll still be coaching Yuuri, of course. He’ll still help him figure out new moves, new concepts, and new choreography. He’ll still hug him at the Kiss and Cry, and, whichever medals Yuuri might win, Victor will be just as proud as he had been when Yuuri had beaten his record for the free skate last December. But, this time around, he will be next to Yuuri on the ice, and on the podium, as well.

“You’re thinking about something,” Yuuri says when they finish. “You seemed a little… off.” They’re both breathing hard, and Victor has to stop himself from pulling Yuuri in for a kiss. He needs to at least _attempt_ to remain professional sometimes, even if no one else is around.

He leans against the rink wall to knock the snow off of his blades. “It’s just fun skating with you,” he says. He flashes a smile at Yuuri. “I’m excited for next season to start.”

Yuuri drifts closer. “You’re not nervous about competing against me?”

Victor scoffs. “Why would I be? It’s not like we’re going to break up if one of us gets gold and the other silver.”

“Didn’t I tell you Victor?” Yuuri’s reached him now, and he takes his hand, a playful smile teasing his lips. “Our relationship depends on how we medal.”

“Don’t joke about that!” Victor half-laughs, half-cries. He lets go of Yuuri’s hand and skates back a little, shocked. “Don’t you dare!” He’s suddenly remembering how he’d felt when Yuuri had proposed they end things; it had felt like the whole world was caving in on him.

Yuuri laughs, and he reaches for Victor again. “I’m kidding!”

Victor’s heart is racing, and his eyes prickle with the threat of tears yet again. He lets Yuuri embrace him, and a weak laugh spills out of him as he’s enveloped in Yuuri’s arms. “Don’t mess with me like that, Yuuri.”

“I’m sorry.” Victor hugs him back, and they stay like that for a moment as the adrenaline drains out of Victor’s body. “I didn’t think it’d upset you.”

“It’s fine.” Victor pulls away and smiles at his fiancee. “It just… caught me unexpectedly.”

Yuuri raises a solemn hand. “I promise I’ll never joke about ending our relationship ever again. You have my word.”

Victor laughs. “Thank you.”

Yuuri hugs him again, tightly this time.

**

For dinner, they choose takeout. They stop at Victor’s favorite Indian restaurant on the way home, picking up a few different dishes for Yuuri to sample. Victor had been surprised when he found out Yuuri didn’t know much about different types of food, especially since Yuuri had spent so many years in training in America.

“I mean, I’ve _had_ different kinds of food before,” Yuuri had explained. “I was bound to, with Pichit as my best friend, but… I don’t know. I just didn’t pay much attention, I guess.”

That had exasperated Victor. And, although St. Petersburg isn’t necessarily as cosmopolitan as a city like London, it has a much wider array of cuisine than Hasetsu, so Victor had made it his mission to expose Yuuri to as much as he’s willing to try. Maybe he doesn’t know how to cook, but Victor Nikiforov is an expert at finding the best restaurants.

“I don’t think I would die in vain if I died without ever trying vindaloo,” Yuuri says as they wait for the elevator in the lobby of their building.

“But once you have it, you’ll be glad you _did_ try it,” Victor replies, his smile coy as he looks at Yuuri out of the corner of his eye. “It’s really good.”

“I’m sure it is.” The elevator arrives, and Victor follows Yuuri inside. He takes the moment alone to wrap an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, squeezing him against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head, and something twists in his chest when Yuuri moves to rest his head against Victor’s shoulder.

**

“So have you thought any more about when we might want to set our wedding date?”

Victor looks up from his chicken masala in surprise, his mouth falling open despite the food that’s still in there. “What?”

Yuuri looks down at his plate, smiling despite his self-consciousness. “We need to pick a date. I know we’re about to be busier than ever soon, but if we never settle on a concrete date, we’re going to take forever to actually plan it.”

“No, no…” Victor puts his fork down and takes a sip of his wine. “You just surprised me with wedding talk, is all. Was your mom asking about it today?”

Yuuri’s smile shifts into something more rueful. “Yeah. She was. Every time she calls, it’s ‘When are you and Vicchan finally getting married? Your father needs to know so he can plan accordingly to book the onsen.’”

Victor laughs. “We’re getting married at Yuu-topia? That’s perfect.”

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening in sudden panic. “We don’t have to!”

“I’d like to.” Victor gently nudges one of his feet under the table. He finds he has to look away from Yuuri as he thinks about what he wants to say next, memories of their time there flooding his head. “It’s where we fell in love.”

Yuuri goes quiet, and Victor has to look up to make sure he didn’t say something too embarrassing. But Yuuri’s looking down again, his face distorted, like he can’t control its expression. “Why do you have to say these kinds of things so unexpectedly?” he asks.

Victor reaches over the table to grab Yuuri’s hand. “It’d be perfect. We can do it in a year, if you want. April’s the only month all of our friends have the time to travel, anyway.”

“If we set a date, we’re really going to have to commit to planning,” Yuuri says, peeking up to meet Victor’s eyes. “You really think we’ll have time for that while you’re skating _and_ coaching? I can barely manage _my_ time while just skating. We’d have to hire someone.”

Victor quirks his mouth to the side, thinking. “Maybe in two years, then? We can see how this season goes for us. Can you handle a three-year engagement?”

“I could handle a seven-year engagement, as long as we get to continue living like this,” Yuuri says.

“I love you,” Victor says, his heart swelling in his chest so much he thinks it might burst.

Yuuri squeezes his fingers. “I love you, too.”

**

Yuuri goes to shower while Victor takes care of the few dishes they used, humming the few bars he remembers of the cello piece he’d listened to earlier in the day. Makkachin watches him, hoping there might be a few scraps he can score, but Victor tuts as he informs him, “There’s nothing but sauce and the odd piece of rice that got left behind.” He feels bad, though, when the poodle begins to whine, so he dries his hands and finds the package of treats he keeps in one of the cupboards. Makkachin, sensing his good fortune, follows Victor hungrily, his tail wagging furiously.

“You want a treat?” Victor asks. He holds up one of the little nuggets, grinning as Makkachin barks in response. “You want it?”

Makkachin barks again, and Victor tosses the treat, whooping in delight as he snatches it midair. He tosses him a few more, and then, much to the poodle’s disappointment, he puts the bag away, saying, “I already let Yuuri get chubby, so I can’t let you get chubby, too.” He kneels down and takes Makkachin’s face in his hands, squishing it a little as the dog studies him. “You’re just as cute as Yuuri, but I can’t spoil both of you. Yurio will get mad at me.” He kisses him on the forehead. “I don’t want him to yell at me about spoiling the people I love.”

“Yurio talked about me like I was your dog?”

Victor whirls around, his breath catching in his throat when he sees Yuuri in nothing but a towel in the doorway of their bedroom. “W-well.” He licks his lips; there’s still a bit of softness to Yuuri’s body, a suggestion of his post-World Championships weight gain, but Victor can see the muscles returning to competitive shape beneath the surface, the memory of his peak physical condition apparent even through the retreating softness. Really, Victor thinks, he looks like a normal person, at a normal weight. There’s no six-pack to tempt him, though if Victor is being honest, he’s never particularly cared for that, anyway. He still wants to rip the towel off and do all kinds of things to Yuuri. He can’t believe how strongly he’s reacting to this. “He might have commented on it,” he says.

Yuuri sighs. “It’s not my fault I gain weight easily.”

“That’s what I said!” Victor stands up, abandoning Makkachin for his beautiful fiancee. He walks over to him, his hands immediately going to play at the edge of the towel on his hips. “I also said I couldn’t help how cute you are, either.”

Yuuri takes half a step back, and when Victor looks up, he’s begun to blush. “You said that?”

“Of course.” Victor leans into his personal space, and rubs his nose against the skin beneath Yuuri’s ear. His hair is still wet, his skin still damp; he smells warm, and clean. “I do think you’re sexy, too, though, in a way that Makkachin isn’t.”

Yuuri lets out a laugh, but it’s breathless, in a nervous way. “I’m glad you don’t think Makkachin is sexy.”

Victor pulls Yuuri closer as he begins to press kisses to Yuuri’s neck, his hands tightening on his hips. “You’re the sexiest pork cutlet bowl I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says.

He feels Yuuri’s hands at his back, tracing the line of his spine. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Victor hums in agreement. He presses even closer, trying to rub himself against Yuuri’s hip, but he ends up pushing Yuuri back into the room, and they almost fall over.

“Sorry,” he says, but he grins when he realizes the towel has fallen, and, almost by instinct, his hand shoots down to start fondling Yuuri, who jumps in surprise with a small yelp, even as he pulls Victor closer.

“Victor…” His hands tighten over Victor’s sweater, and the gasp Victor elicits goes straight to his cock. “I just showered…”

“That’s perfect, then.” Victor juggles kissing Yuuri and shuffling them closer to the bed until they fall over its edge in a heap. He immediately begins kissing his way down Yuuri’s neck, chest, stomach, hips, and he’s about to take him into his mouth when Yuuri interrupts him.

“Can you – ” Yuuri shifts underneath Victor, his face flushed and apologetic. “Can we please close the door? And maybe give Makkachin a bone or something to keep him occupied so he doesn’t come in here?”

Victor sighs, his head falling down to rest next to Yuuri’s hip, the sheets cool against his forehead. “Fine.”

“Do _you_ want him watching us have sex?”

Victor gets up, flicks his bangs out of his eye with a huff. “No, I don’t.”

So, for the third time that day, he gets up with an unsatisfied hard-on, ignoring the laughter Yuuri’s suddenly holding back as he leaves their bedroom to find something to occupy Makkachin. He shoots a half-hearted glare in the poodle’s direction as he rummages around the kitchen cupboards, but he can’t manage _that_ much animosity – who does he think he is? Yurio?

He leaves Makkachin gnawing contentedly away underneath the kitchen table, but, just in case, he also leaves a few puzzle toys lying around. He isn’t taking any chances; not this time.

Yuuri’s right where Victor left him, but while he was gone, he’d managed to find a blanket to spread out over the duvet, a lesson learned after Victor came all over it a few weeks ago. He’s still naked, though, and he’s watching the doorway as Victor returns, his shoulders stiff with anticipation, his eyes hungry as Victor saunters in, gently closing the door behind him.

“Come here,” he says softly, patting a spot next to him on the blanket.

It doesn’t take long for Victor to react. Eagerness makes him clumsy as he tries to rid himself of his shirt, his fingers shaking as they pull off his pants. He stumbles stepping out of them, and Yuuri catches him as he falls onto the bed with a muttered curse. Yuuri’s palming him through his briefs, his lips attaching themselves to Victor’s neck as he works Victor back up to his previous level of excitement. He lies down, Victor crawling on top of him, one hand wrapping around Victor’s neck to pull him closer while the other slips beneath the elastic of Victor’s briefs, finally – electrically – taking him in hand.

Victor gasps, his toes curling as Yuuri swipes his thumb over the beaded precome gathered at his tip. Soon enough, he’s divested of the briefs, and he’s groaning into Yuuri’s mouth as Yuuri continues to jerk him off.

“Please,” he breathes, thrusting weakly into Yuuri’s hand. “Fuck me. Please.”

Yuuri pauses. He pulls back a little to study Victor, his eyes wide with surprise. “Are you sure?”

Victor catches his lips in a kiss. “Absolutely.”

“You’ll be sore tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.”

A hand absentmindedly runs down Victor’s back, stopping at his tailbone before retracing its course. “No?”

He kisses Yuuri again. “No.”

Yuuri rolls out from underneath him, then, and crawls towards the head of the bed to open the drawer of his night table. After some audible rummaging, he asks, “Is the lube in yours, or mine?”

Victor scoffs. He’s fallen onto his stomach, his arms spread out to either side. “How am I supposed to know?”

Yuuri crawls to the other side of the bed, frowning. “It’s not like we’ve been celibate for the last month.”

“Well, that’s why I can’t remember.”

“Do you want to have sex or not?”

Victor raises himself to his elbows to glare at his fiancee. “It’s either in your drawer or mine! We don’t leave it anywhere else.”

As Yuuri begins rummaging angrily, Victor falls back onto his stomach with a huff. Once the skating season begins, they won’t be able to fool around as much as they’ve been able to do since the end of March. Really, they’re cutting it close as it is, with Yuuri already training, but Victor knows that, soon enough, Yakov will watch him like a hawk, making sure absolutely nothing distracts him from his competitive comeback. He wouldn’t put it past his coach to go so far as to make Yurio move in with himself and Yuuri to act as a spy and a deterrent. And while Victor wouldn’t mind spending more time with Yurio – teenage angst and brattiness aside, he really does adore him – he would, he thinks as he watches the line of Yuuri’s bare back, much prefer to keep things the way they are.

Yuuri sits up then, crying out in delight. “I found it!”

Victor closes his eyes with a relieved sigh. “Thank God.” He moves to turn over to face Yuuri, but he feels a restraining hand on his back, gentle yet firm.

“Stay like that,” Yuuri says, his voice quiet in that way that makes Victor’s spine tingle.

Yuuri crawls over him, his hand never leaving Victor’s back as he settles between his legs. Victor responds by shimmying backward to push his ass out a little. It’s lewd, and rather shameless, but Yuuri runs an appreciative hand over it before leaning over him and pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs.

Victor’s cock twitches at the low, electric undercurrent in his voice. “ _Yes_.” He’s been ready since before lunch.

He presses his forehead into the bed as he listens to Yuuri prepare behind him – the lube’s cap, the squeeze of it onto Yuuri’s fingers, the slide of his palms as he warms it. He feels Yuuri sit back on his heels, and jumps a little at Yuuri’s hand on one of his cheeks.

The pressure is familiar; the press and push that follow are welcome. Victor relaxes into it, gasping a little as Yuuri’s finger begins to pull out, gritting his teeth as Yuuri begins to press back in, fucking him gently.

“You good?” Yuuri asks, his voice soft, the thumb of his other hand rubbing reassuring circles into Victor’s hip.

Victor nods. “Do another.”

He grabs onto the blanket beneath him as Yuuri adds another finger. His hands are smaller than Victor’s, but he uses them well, and Victor hums impatiently as Yuuri continues to slowly work him open, rocking back to push him further inside.

“Patience,” Yuuri murmurs, his hand on Victor’s hip tightening – and then he’s curling his fingers, hitting that magic spot that makes Victor cry out.

Yuuri curls them again, doing his best to rub Victor’s prostate a few more times. It takes all of Victor’s self-control not to squirm beneath Yuuri’s hands; his own hands ball into fists, and he grits his teeth, his heart hammering in his throat, his cock aching to be touched as Yuuri works at him. He continues to rub circles into his hip, and he leans down to kiss Victor’s back again. Victor cranes his neck around to meet him for a kiss that’s hot and shaky.

“Ready for number three?” Yuuri asks.

Victor kisses him again. “Yes.”

It’s a lot, this time, but Victor breathes through it, so glad that Yuuri had thought to provide distractions for Makkachin. The other week, Victor had been blowing Yuuri in the bedroom when Makkachin began whining at the door; they had missed his dinner, and oral sex was not an excuse that the poodle would accept.

“Yuuri.” Victor’s tingling all over as Yuuri keeps working him. He’s warm and pliant, and he pushes back against him, ready for more. “Please.”

He winces as Yuuri pulls his fingers out. He’s harder than ever now, and while Yuuri wipes his hand on something and begins to tear open the condom packaging, he reaches down to pull on himself a few times, breathless at the feeling that floods through him as he does so.

“Hey.” Yuuri grabs his wrist and pushes him down in one fluid motion. “Stop that.” He crawls on top of Victor, kissing his back, and then his shoulders along the way. His mouth is at Victor’s ear as he rolls his hips, sliding his cock along the line of Victor’s ass. Victor pushes against him, raising himself onto his elbows for more leverage. He turns around for a kiss, and he can’t help the moan that escapes him as Yuuri rubs up against him once more.

“Yuuri – ”

Yuuri disappears for a second, and then he’s holding Victor by the hips, moving him into the right position. There are a few unbearable seconds where Victor has to listen to Yuuri slick himself up, but the nudge of his cock against Victor’s entrance is everything Victor wants, everything he’s wanted since they were kissing in this bed more than 12 hours ago. As Yuuri guides himself in, Victor’s breath hitches; his chest constricts. It hasn’t been long since the last time he bottomed for Yuuri – less than a week, if he really thinks about it (they’ve taken advantage of their time off) – but it still takes him a few seconds to accept the feeling of Yuuri sliding into him, filling him up slowly and carefully. The fullness he feels is always a little surprising; no matter how many times he does this, he isn’t sure he’ll ever really be used to it. Yuuri’s massaging Victor’s hip again, and his breathing is ragged, too, as he bottoms out, pausing to let the stretching burn ease up. He leans down to press his forehead to the back of Victor’s shoulders, one of his hands coming up to take Victor’s, their fingers lacing together as he gives a small experimental roll of his hips that has Victor inhaling sharply.

Yuuri’s other hand appears, and he and Victor make twin fists in the sheets as he presses another kiss to Victor’s back.

“How are you?” His voice is soft, tender against the sensitive skin of Victor’s back, and full of something that fills Victor up until he feels like his heart is overflowing.

Victor smiles breathlessly. “I’m doing just fine, darling.” His words turn into a groan as Yuuri begins to rock against him, the push and pull of it all absolutely delicious.

Victor loses all sense of himself as Yuuri begins to move in earnest. His fingers are tight around Victor’s, his mouth hot against Victor’s neck, and the friction of the blanket against Victor’s cock as he moves his hips in unison with Yuuri’s is enough to make his head spin. There’s a sensitive spot just behind Victor’s ear that Yuuri begins to exploit, kissing it and tonguing at it until he has Victor moaning and trying to writhe underneath him. Suddenly, Yuuri’s pushing Victor down again, and he braces a hand against Victor’s shoulder, his other going to steady Victor’s hip as he begins to move faster. Victor makes an undignified noise as Yuuri continues to fuck him – the pressure of Yuuri’s hand against his back goes straight to Victor’s cock; he can feel pressure building in his balls, white and rosy lights bursting beneath his eyelids as he’s pushed further and further into the bed, moan after moan clawing their way out of his throat.

Then Yuuri slows down. In the absence of the sound of skin against skin, Victor can hear Yuuri’s own labored breathing.

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes. “You’re killing me.”

Yuuri returns to him, covering him bodily as he rocks back into him. Victor turns around to kiss him; it’s hot, and wet, and pretty sloppy as their tongues slide against one another. It makes Victor shiver. When he pulls back a little, he can see Yuuri’s face, sweetly pink, sweaty, some of his hair hanging damp over his eyes while some of it sticks to his forehead, his temples. He’s beautiful.

“You really like this, don’t you?” Yuuri asks between thrusts. There’s a smile on his face, and Victor watches it spread, sharp and seductive in a way that makes Victor feel like he’s melting underneath him.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathes. Yuuri pulls him back by the jaw to kiss him, and Victor gasps into his mouth as Yuuri’s cock brushes past his prostate.

“I love you,” Yuuri breathes into Victor’s ear as his hips snap flush to Victor’s. “I love you so much.”

Victor gasps. He’s close.

Their hands find each other again, their fingers intertwining as Yuuri drives into Victor once, twice, three times, and Victor buries his face in the bed to muffle the noise he makes as he comes. Everything becomes a burst of light, a flood of hot, sweet sensation that leaves him shaking. Suddenly, every movement Yuuri makes borders on painful. In the back of Victor’s mind, he’s grateful that Yuuri had thought to save the duvet from what would have been a very sticky mess.

Yuuri groans Victor’s name, then, his voice hoarse and desperate as he pulls Victor in for another kiss that leaves him dizzy.

“Pull out,” Victor says, propping himself up further on his elbows. “Let me take care of you.”

Yuuri rolls off of him, and Victor tries to ignore the feeling of the loss of him as he directs him towards the top of the bed, leaning him against the pillows.

“What are you – ”

He stops short as Victor takes him in hand, rolls off the condom, and tosses it carelessly over his shoulder with a half-murmured promise to find it later. Then he’s stroking him, marveling a little at just how fucking _hard_ he still is – and inhales him in one smooth motion. Yuuri jerks underneath him, but Victor holds him down with one hand while the other works the base of his cock, his grip strong and methodical as his tongue circles the head. He tastes a little bit like the latex of the condom, but it’s counteracted by the saltiness of the pre come that’s leaking out of the tip, and, underneath it all, there’s still that sweet musk that’s unique to Yuuri that drives Victor crazy.

Yuuri’s fingers bury themselves in Victor’s hair, his nails rough against his scalp as he bobs up and down. He starts making a few shallow thrusts into Victor’s mouth; he’s about to come. Victor goes down as far as he can, sucks, and holds onto Yuuri’s thighs, swallowing all that he can.

“Wow,” he says afterwards.

Yuuri wilts beneath him, and Victor pushes himself up to find his lips. They settle down side by side on the pillows, sweaty and satiated and really tired. Yuuri reaches over to push Victor’s bangs off of his face. Without a word, Victor reaches up for his wrist, pulling it over to his mouth to kiss it. Then he’s pulling Yuuri into his arms, burying his face in his beautiful dark hair. His chest aches, and he feels stupid with affection.

“That was… really good,” Yuuri says, his voice quiet against Victor’s shoulder.

Victor hums in agreement, shifting so he’s more horizontal, though that turns out to be a mistake – his foot slides across the blanket, landing in the cold, sticky mess he’d made only a few minutes ago.

Yuuri feels him freeze, and a short, weak laugh tumbles out of him. “Did you hit what I think you hit?”

“You’re a genius for thinking of the blanket,” Victor says, reluctantly sitting up to gather the blanket up and wipe his foot clean in the process.

“That’s why you love me,” Yuuri says, and when Victor turns around, his smile is teasing.

Victor laughs, tossing the blanket to the floor before crawling back up to Yuuri to kiss him silly. When they pull away for air, he says, “There are many more reasons why I love you.”

One of Yuuri’s eyebrows twitches with curiosity. “Yeah?”

Another kiss, this one slow, but short-lived. “Yeah.”

Yuuri rubs his nose against Victor’s. “Care to expand on that?”

“I’d love to,” Victor says, “but I have to check on our dog.”

Just then, there’s a scratch at the door, as if Makkachin and Victor had rehearsed this moment. Yuuri sighs, and he rolls onto his side, hugging a pillow to his chest. It makes Victor laugh.

“I’ll be back soon as can be,” he says, leaning over Yuuri to press as many quick kisses to his face, neck, and shoulders as he can before Yuuri, too ticklish, swats him away.

“Farewell, my love,” Victor sings, striding towards the door despite his absolute nakedness. “Think of me, think of me fondly – ”

He’s interrupted by Makkachin, who starts barking as soon as the door swings open. He darts past Victor, going straight to the bed, where he jumps almost directly onto Yuuri, who makes a strangled sound of surprise as Makkachin greets him with his tongue.

**

Later, when they’re safely under the covers, Yuuri sandwiched once again between Victor and Makkachin, Victor stiffens, remembering something. “The cake!”

Yuuri turns halfway around, confusion pulling his eyebrows downward. “What?”

Victor rolls onto his back, slamming his palm to his forehead. “I bought cake today! I completely forgot.”

“Victor, it’s okay…”

“I think I left it at the rink. I was so excited about getting Indian food, I left it there.” He turns to Yuuri, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “What? I got it for you just as much as I got it for me.”

“Nothing, nothing.” Yuuri’s grinning unashamedly now, and it sets something alight inside Victor, even if it’s at his expense. “You’re just cute.”

Victor huffs, put out by this sudden realization. “It was _chocolate_.”

Yuuri rolls over so that he’s facing Victor. He puts an arm over his chest, pulling him a little bit closer. “We can buy another one tomorrow. Heck, we’ll buy _two_.”

Victor reaches for Yuuri and pulls him into a hug. He buries his face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” Yuuri laughs.

Makkachin starts to wiggle, displeased that he’s being left out of the fray. Victor refuses to relinquish his hold on Yuuri, though, so the poodle gets up and starts climbing on top of both of them. As Yuuri yells for Victor to let him go to appease their dog, and as Makkachin barks, doing his best to reach Yuuri’s face with his tongue again, Victor simply laughs, his heart close to bursting with happiness.

He can’t wait for what tomorrow has to bring.


End file.
